


Ivory

by Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Altered Mental States, Character Study, Classical Music, Developing Relationship, Gen, Id Fic, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Piano, slight prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 15:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21079241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker/pseuds/Big_Spicy_Garlean_Fucker
Summary: An ivory standard, pale fingers, polished piano keys.Varis is moved by music more than he truly knows.





	Ivory

**Author's Note:**

> Fic about my OC Lucius and Varis. This is a snippet I'm not sure where to place in the timeline of their relationship, but I wrote it and it's here anyway.
> 
> For more about Lucius please check here: lucius-ffxiv.tumblr.com/about

Varis doesn’t often wander aimlessly throughout the Imperial Palace. He’s called this place home for all his life, gone from Prince to High Legatus to Radiance, yet almost always seeks other places to be in his free hours. Of those, he has precious little. Time to be _himself_, instead of performing whatever role a man of his station is supposed to. He’s had so little time to practice the art that he finds himself lost when he tries, such as now, meandering along the red carpeted halls in a casual shirt suited for business and pleasure at once. What _is_ that, pleasure? What does he know of using his free time to pursue interest and joy rather than a bit of extra work that’ll need to be done tomorrow? Always, Varis has been one to live in the future. To secure this and that for the Empire, for the next generation of his people, more resources, more connections, _anything_.

Anything to keep from being himself.

He’s forty-eight. He should know who he is by now. Yet every time he thinks of it, he comes up with not a word at all, not a value or desire or piece he truly resounds with. Not a thing. And it worries him. Far easier it is to think of nothing at all, to distract himself with his work, than to worry about such pithy nonsense. He’s Varis zos Galvus, after all, the most Radiant Emperor of Garlemald.

_‘You have work to do, don’t you? Stop wasting time, find something to do.’_ Telling himself this sets the wheels of his mind in motion to remember just what the last thing on his schedule was, the last line he got a glimpse at before closing it for the day. He’s had lunch, no meetings, and a little bit of paperwork to attend to. What’s on for tomorrow? He’s just straining a little too far to remember when something catches his attention, and pulls it away with all the force of an Umbral Calamity.

Music.

Soft, careful scales, going up and down the middle range of a piano. He’d forgotten about that, the brightly lit dayroom in this wing of the Palace with an enormous concert grand in the center of it. For all the times he’s passed, he doesn’t remember any consistent recitals from any of the staff or various nobles who live here. Puzzling over who it could be, Varis follows the sound half expecting to be hallucinating an old memory of someone playing for him in a time bitterly longed for. A simpler time, when he was yet young, and _small_, and people could love him and he believed it. A sharp pain swells in his chest and he squashes it down, doing his best to focus on the scales. They’re _perfect_, about as soulful as a technical exercise can be. There’s a hint of rote Varis knows well – he has no clue _how_, as he’s no musician himself, but it speaks to an orderly part of him that understands rhythm and skill. And all of a sudden, a face comes to mind. His advisor of two years, Lucius.

Lucius had spoken offhandedly once or twice about his fondness for classical music, but never let slip that he could actually play. Whenever Varis pressed him on the things he personally enjoyed, Lucius would always deflect like an absolute champion into something else Varis liked to talk about. He arrives at the room lacking any guards outside, a common sign of Lucius seeking solitude. Varis stands by the door not quite leaning against it as he knows it’ll open inwards, listening to the gentle tinkling of delicate fingers on ivory keys. A strong lower hand comes in with steady, marching rhythms, while the higher sings of rapturous glory. Varis usually hears the national anthem accompanied by a full orchestra and a thousand proud voices, and he closes his eyes as the words bloom within his mind. It isn’t long before he nudges open the door and wanders in, standing with his hands folded behind his back as Lucius plays on. The man certainly has quite the technique for one who ‘long since lost his touch’, deftly fingering each note with the ease of a professional in concert. If he’s aware of the Emperor’s presence, he certainly doesn’t show it, reaching deep octaves with the ease of long-practised memory.

_‘He must’ve learned this at the Academy,’_ Varis thinks, admiring the golden afternoon sunlight playing over pink-blushed knuckles. _‘Things to play to impress one’s superiors. Count me impressed, most certainly, but… mm. Does he know any classical?’_ When _he_ attended the Academy, there were no such things as secondary electives or artistically inclined classes. It was physical training or boredom, and Varis rarely chose the latter. He recalls with a jolt laying his hands upon a keyboard for the first time, a fine instrument owned by his mother many years ago. His fingers were too thick to do much more than fumble around, and the memory brings a flush of shame to his face. Lucius has such _perfect_ hands. Varis can’t take his eyes off them, even though the thought of his own hurts him deeper than he cares to know. At least there is this, this joy his advisor takes in the making of beautiful music, practising a skill he thought lost to him forever. Varis certainly enjoys it, and as the melody fades away, he almost forgets to open his eyes. The gaze upon him compels a response, however, and he meets Lucius’s lavender-blue eyes with something resembling a smile. Lucius’s lashes flutter, and soft pink tints his cheeks.

“Your Radiance...”

Varis dips his head. “I do hope you don’t mind. I thought you’d forgotten how to play?”

“Ah, it’s no trouble – yes, I… thought so too.” Lucius mirrors the gesture, fluffy blonde fringe swishing before his eyes. “I’m still a little out of practice.”

Varis grunts. “I disagree.” He seats himself in a nearby armchair with a deep, rolling sigh, tilting his head back. Something tickles his cheek and he brushes at it with a ruffled sleeve, only to find it damp when he draws it away. He blinks, and glances to see Lucius watching him, picturesquely haloed in gold from the tall, arched window behind him. Varis wipes at his face again. “Ahm. What other tunes do you know? Anything classical?”

Lucius tilts his head a little, gaze drifting in contemplation. “Mnnn… what kind of classical? I know _Stratuvius_, and a bit of _Vagner_.”

“Of course you do.” Varis nods a few times, not looking anywhere in particular. “Standard things, sure to impress. Tell me, which one’s your favourite, out of all the pieces you know?” He side-eyes Lucius curiously, watching the gears of his mind turn. After a moment’s deliberation (just a smidge too long to be truthful), Lucius smiles.

“The one I just played.”

Varis lifts a brow. “The national anthem? Well, it _does_ have quite the melody to it…”

“Mnnn.” Lucius seems to glow as he flexes his fingers, rolling his broad shoulders back. “It’s _wonderful_. Whenever I play it, I feel that much closer to Garlemald. It’s nice, you know?”

Varis watches him instead of responding, trying to discern whether his advisor’s patriotic joy is genuine or an act. It coils strangely in his gut when he realizes that it actually _is_ real, that Lucius truly loves little other than his home. The same home that raised him into a man believing he held no worth beyond service, used up every aspect of him from his willpower to his life energy, and broke him only to spit him into the next job it could find. Varis’s brows draw together and he vaguely registers Lucius’s expression changing from joyous to concerned, the quietest utterance of his title in question. What is he looking at, Varis zos Galvus? Is it a man, a human being he now gazes upon with eyes filled with tears? Is it a proud young soldier who happened upon one too many mishaps in life? Is it a horribly ruined soul scraped so raw it holds not a single shred of individuality or self that can cope with what it’s become? Or is it a reflection of himself he now reaches out to, frozen and afraid of the truth of them both.

Lucius kneels before him, grasping one large hand in two of his own. “Your Radiance, please. It- it’s okay.”

Varis shakes his head. _‘It’s not_,’ he thinks, not trusting himself to speak. ‘_What are we? What are we doing here, what… purpose do our lives lead? All of it… all of it, for the Empire, forty-eight **years**…’_

Without flicking his eyes on, Lucius presses his cheek to the back of Varis’s hand and ever so gently strokes his palm. “_Varis_.” he breathes, and _that_ gets the Emperor’s attention. Not the galling shock of insult or disbelief, but a thin gasp and several blinks. Varis looks down to see his advisor gazing at him with such love and _understanding_ that he damn near weeps openly at the sight. He does – not openly, but it’s something. The trickle of first meltwater at the onset of Spring, the lightest finger-droplets upon untouched keys. High and sweet and mournful, minor. He stares at Lucius, shaking, and Lucius holds him, still.

It’s a long time before Varis turns his hand aside and cups Lucius’s cheek. _‘I don’t deserve you,’_ he thinks, and the way Lucius looks at him says _‘Yes, you do.’_ Lucius presses a gentle kiss to his Emperor’s palm in neither fealty nor submission. It is a gift, one he will give over and over until Varis knows it within his heart. The love Lucius feels for him, far greater than anything he could ever feel for Garlemald. Far greater than anything he could give himself. Varis chooses then without thinking overmuch, to lift his hand and gesture for Lucius to rise. He grasps his advisor’s hips and draws him near, into his lap, where Lucius seats himself serenely with legs tucked off to one side. He’s nowhere near tall enough to meet Varis’s eye level, but looking up, he just manages to meet that honey-gold gaze with his own lilac blue. Every piece of him is so _soft_ – Varis fears he will break him, holding him like this, but Lucius is _strong_ and proves himself thus. He takes what emotions Varis cannot process into himself, tends to them so sweetly and hands them back stripped of all the pain. So too does he offer a solid, grounding presence, heavy enough to distract Varis from his own size, an omnipresent agony of his being.

“There.” Lucius breathes, pressing a soothing hand to his Emperor’s chest. “Is that okay?”

Varis merely looks at him. _‘I don’t know / I think it is.’_ war within his mind. Lucius dips his head to nuzzle Varis’s chest, and the answer rumbles out a moment later. “I believe so.” Varis loops a tentative arm around Lucius’s back, then his waist, for he cannot hold it so high forever. _‘**Is **this okay…?’_

“Mmm.” Lucius certainly seems to agree, shapely lips parted in a quiet sigh against his Radiance’s broad chest. “So warm…” The arm around his waist tightens, and he can’t withhold the moan that slips through his next breath. “Nh~” Varis immediately loosens, afeared that he’s hurt him. Lucius wriggles around. “Please hold me.” Maybe it’s the Resonance melding this soul-deep desire with Varis’s immediate conscious, maybe it’s something else. But Varis’s arm tightens once more, without question, and Lucius melts into him. He can _feel_ the comfort it brings to his beloved Emperor, and never mind if Varis doesn’t want anything further than this. At the moment, this is good for them both, even if it needed a bit of prodding. Varis’s other arm comes around too, completely enveloping Lucius in strong, snug warmth. Maybe they are two broken soldiers, the both of them.

Maybe too do their pieces fit together.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you like it ^^
> 
> This was done in three hours, stream-of-consciousness, edited as I wrote.


End file.
